Kitabı oku: «The Prince's Heir»

Chapter One

“Mama, Mama, Mama!” The screen door banged open and Joshua charged out as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. At the same time a large dog, who appeared to be part bassett hound, part collie, part horse and all mongrel, gallumphed around the corner, his deep barking amazingly synchronized with Josh’s excited shouts.

Mandy Crawford dashed to the porch, catching Josh as he started his usual tumble down the three front steps. He laughed as she lifted him into the air and whirled him around. “How’s my boy? Can I have a kiss?”

He puckered up and planted a sloppy one on her cheek, then laughed some more.

The dog danced around them, woofing and waggling. Mandy set her son on one hip and reached down to pet the dog, scratching behind his floppy ear, as well as the one that always stood erect. “Good boy, Prince,” she praised, knowing how desperately he wanted to jump on her but didn’t since she was wearing her go-to-work clothes.

“Guboy,” Josh echoed and leaned over to plant a kiss on the dog’s head.

“Yuck! You’ve got a good heart, kiddo. Lousy judgment but a good heart.”

With Prince temporarily quieted, she carried Josh back inside the house. “How about you? Have you been a good boy? Did you mind your Gamma today?”

“Gamma!” Josh wriggled down onto the faded area rug of the living room, wrapped a hand around Mandy’s finger and launched into an enthusiastic but mostly incoherent monologue as he led her toward the kitchen. Gamma, Nana and An Say See were the only words she recognized—Grandma, Mandy’s mother, Nana, Mandy’s grandmother, and Aunt Stacy, Mandy’s sister. The rest of the words were immaterial, anyway. Family was all that mattered.

“Mom! I’m home!” she called. “Do I smell fried chicken? Dad must be on his way. Is he closing the store early today? He should, as hot as it is.”

“In the kitchen, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice sounded oddly strained, and Mandy hesitated for a moment, fingers of fear tracing down her spine.

Josh tugged on her finger, and she tried to shrug off her unfounded fears. Ever since Cramps died three years ago, she’d been on edge, looking for trouble everywhere and all the time. She had to stop doing that. Life was good, and it was going to stay that way.

She let Josh lead her through the dining room and into the big old kitchen. Golden light streamed through windows on two sides, as well as through the screen door that led to the backyard. White-painted cabinets reflected and amplified the light, while yellow curtains, tied back at the sides of the windows, fluttered in the breezes created by the attic fan. It was Mandy’s favorite room and the room where their extended family always seemed to congregate.

Standing beside the white enamel gas stove, Mandy’s mother looked up from taking pieces of chicken out of the pan and laying them on a platter. There could be no mistaking the anxiety in her face, and Mandy’s stomach clenched. Was her grandmother ill? Had something happened to the baby her sister-in-law was carrying?

As if drawn by a powerful magnet, her gaze moved to the rectangular oak table that filled one side of the room. A stranger rose from the chair between her sister Stacy and their grandmother.

It was hot in the room, even with the attic fan pulling in shade-cooled air, but the sober expressions on all the faces sent a chill down Mandy’s spine.

“Mandy, we have a guest.” Her mother’s voice was tight, as if it would explode should she relax her grip on it.

Mandy looked more closely at the tall, elegant stranger. He was movie-star handsome with a square jaw and chiseled features. His hair was black like the summer sky just before dawn and his eyes were as blue as that same sky would be an hour later. For a flickering instant those eyes seemed as deep and as filled with tantalizing promises as that morning sky, but it must have been a trick of the bright light. In the next instant his gaze was glacial and distant, more like a January day when the winter stretched behind and ahead with no end in sight

Mandy was both drawn to the man and disturbed by him.

His expression was set in stoic, controlled lines, his posture erect with a bearing that went beyond military—as if it were a part of him, something in his blood. His demeanor fit perfectly with his dark suit, white shirt and conservative tie.

No one dressed like that in late June in Texas.

Mandy’s mother turned off the flame under the empty skillet and ran her hands down the front of her apron. “Mandy, this is Stephan Reynard. Mr. Reynard, my daughter, Mandy.”

Stephan Reynard, Prince of Castile.

Her adopted son’s biological uncle.

The smell of fried chicken became cloying and stuffy. The room blurred, with only Stephan Reynard’s face in blindingly sharp focus.

She picked up Josh and held him tightly against her.

She should have recognized the resemblance to his brother immediately. Their features were similar, and he had the same stiff demeanor. But Lawrence Reynard’s eyes had been gentle and sad, the eyes of a poet and a dreamer. Stephan was obviously neither.

“Hello, Ms. Crawford.” His accent was the same...vaguely British with an underlying hint of something earthier, Scottish or Irish maybe.

“What do you want?”

Her sixteen-year-old sister stood and held out her arms. “Hey, Josh, why don’t you come with Aunt Stacy? We can go outside and play with Prince for a little while.”

Josh reached for his aunt, and Mandy reluctantly let him go.

Reynard arched a dark eyebrow. “Prince?”

“Our dog,” Mandy said smugly. “He’s the royalty around here.”

“I see.”

The screen door slammed behind Josh and Stacy.

“All right, what do you want?” Mandy repeated, more insistently this time.

“Mandy,” her mother said sternly. “Where are your manners? Mr. Reynard is our guest.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Crawford,” the stranger said. “This isn’t a social call.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Perhaps we could go somewhere private to discuss this matter.”

Mandy folded her arms across her chest. “This is as private as it gets. In fact, we really ought to wait until my dad and my brother, Darryl, and his wife, Lynda, get here, sort of a meeting of the entire royal assembly. Here in America the family is the ruling class, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Mandy,” Rita Crawford said, moving over to wrap one arm around her daughter’s shoulders, “why don’t you take Mr. Reynard into the living room? It’s much cooler in there.”

Mandy shook her head. “No. This affects all of us. Doesn’t it, Mr. Reynard?”

He inclined his head slightly and indicated an unoccupied seat across the table from him. “Very well. Then perhaps you’d care to take your seat in the ‘royal assembly.’”

Mandy lifted an eyebrow. “Mother, why don’t you go ahead and sit down. I’ll remain standing. Isn’t that appropriate in the presence of royalty?”

Reynard crossed his arms in imitation of her, but she doubted that she had that same haughty air that enhanced his gesture and made it something more than a brave front. One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a movement that could have been the beginning of a smile on a face less stoic, and for the first time Mandy had a glimmering of understanding of the strong, inexplicable attraction Alena, her friend from childhood, must have felt for Lawrence. There was something compelling and dynamic about this man in spite of the circumstances.

“Only a moment ago you held the heir to the throne in your arms,” he said. “I think we’ve gotten past formalities.”

The heir to the throne. She’d known what was coming from the moment her mother announced this man’s name, but hearing it put into words caused her stomach to clench into a hard, cold knot and her heartbeat to skip erratically.

It’s all right, she tried to reassure herself. Everything about the adoption was legal, every i dotted, every t crossed.

But Lawrence had warned her that the island of Castile lived by the rules of its country, not by anyone else’s, like the stupid decree that would make an illegitimate son heir to the throne if no legitimate heir existed.

But that wouldn’t apply here.

“Lawrence did his duty. He went back home after Alena’s death and married that Lady Barbara. They’ll produce a legitimate heir. Give them a little time and leave Josh alone.”

“You haven’t heard about Lawrence’s death?”

Lawrence’s death? Mandy felt the blood drain from her face.

“Ms. Crawford? Are you all right?” The voice seemed to come from far away, part of the whirlwind of fear and confusion that spun through Mandy’s head. If Lawrence was dead without leaving a legitimate son, that meant—

Stephan silently cursed his lack of tact as he hastily crossed the space separating him from Mandy and reached to catch her before she fainted.

As he grasped her slim shoulders, however, the color shot back into her pale cheeks. She took a deep breath, straightened and glared at him from eyes that were the same deep, glistening shade of green as the trees and grass they’d flown over on the last leg of the flight to Dallas.

He dropped his hands. “Are you all right?” he repeated, and was shocked to realize that he half wished she would say no, would give him an excuse to touch her, to support her and hold her willowy body in his arms, to lift that wild tangle of copper hair off her neck, run his fingers through the curls and see if they were truly composed of fire. The combination of jet lag and Texas heat was having a most peculiar effect on him.

“I’m fine.” She moved away from him, over to the table to sit in the chair he’d indicated.

Just as well. He had more important things to do than lust after an attractive woman...especially a woman who was, without doubt, going to cause him all sorts of problems before this was over.

Mandy’s grandmother took Mandy’s smooth, slim hand in her wrinkled one and squeezed it in a comforting, protective gesture, and an unexpected, inexplicable spear of envy shot through Stephan’s chest.

Ridiculous. He was tired from the long trip, worn out already, though negotiations had barely begun. He was a member of the ruling family of Castile. They neither had nor could they afford to have pointless emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I assumed you’d know about Lawrence’s death. That was presumptuous of me. What makes for big news in our country likely doesn’t merit a mention on the back page of the paper in your country.”

“How did he die?” Mandy asked, her voice suddenly much softer than when she’d squared off against him a few moments ago.

“In an automobile crash. It happened two months ago.”

“I’m sorry. He seemed to be a good person.”

“Yes, he was. He would have been a good king.”

“But now he’s gone and you’ve come to take his son.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he told you about Josh. He went to so much trouble to be certain your family would never find out.”

Stephan returned to his chair and sat across the table from her. “Lawrence didn’t tell us. The Taggarts were traveling in Europe when they saw the story. They contacted me.”

“Alena’s parents? Why would they do that?” Her eyes hardened to green ice and her lips tightened. “Oh, never mind. I can guess. They saw his picture and realized who Lawrence is. Was. Discovering that the father of their daughter’s illegitimate child was a prince suddenly makes that child socially acceptable, even desirable.”

Stephan considered Mandy’s words. He’d always suspected the Taggarts might have had a hidden agenda in telling him...that it hadn’t been just a case of “doing their duty.” He hadn’t liked their smarmy attitudes and had hoped their story about Lawrence fathering a child would prove to be a fabrication, but it hadn’t.

Rita Crawford set a glass of iced tea in front of Mandy, then took her seat at one end of the table. She was shorter than her daughter, and her hair was smooth and blond instead of wild and red, her eyes a tranquil blue. Yet even at a glance it was obvious the two were related. They both held their heads at that same proud angle that stopped short of being arrogant. Rita’s eyes held the same fires as her daughter’s, though Rita’s were subdued, a lesson probably learned through experiences Mandy hadn’t yet been through.

Vera Crawford, Mandy’s grandmother, was a tiny woman with snow-white hair and a regal bearing that made her seem taller. Her eyes were a softer green than Mandy’s, and she had a quiet, dignified beauty that transcended her years.

When Lawrence had first come to America to attend graduate school in Dallas, he’d regaled Stephan with stories of how different American women were, how independent... especially Texas women. They were, he’d said, all fluff and beauty and fragility on the outside, smiling and friendly, but their spines were tempered steel No women in the world were prettier and none were tougher.

Now, flanked by three of them, Stephan truly understood his brother’s words for the first time.

Mandy’s grandmother. gave her hand a final pat. “Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.” She turned her attention to Stephan. “Now that Mandy’s home, let’s get on with things, Mr. Reynard, and discuss our options.”

There was only one option as far as he was concerned, but in the interest of diplomacy Stephan complied, anyway. He folded his hands on the smooth wood of the table, carefully avoiding the glass of cooled tea dripping condensation onto the table. When Rita Crawford had offered him tea, he’d expected it to be properly hot. Lawrence had failed to mention this peculiarity of Americans. Although, in this stifling heat, he could understand why they’d want their beverages cold.

“Shortly after Lawrence’s death, my father received a letter from Raymond and Jean Taggart. According to this letter, they’d been traveling abroad when they saw my brother’s picture in a newspaper and recognized him as their deceased daughter’s lover, the father of her child. Naturally my father assumed it was a hoax, but he sent an investigator to check out the story and discovered evidence that Lawrence had indeed been involved with their daughter.”

“Lawrence and Alena loved each other very much,” Mandy confirmed quietly. “But of course he couldn’t marry a commoner.” Her voice rose slightly and she spat out the final word.

“Lawrence was the heir to the throne of his country. He had certain duties.”

“I know all about that garbage. Alena told me. And those duties didn’t include making any of his own choices or falling in love, but he did both of those things in spite of his family.”

And look what came of his defying his duty, Stephan thought, but he refrained from saying it. Obviously Mandy Crawford approved of such rebellion.

“And Joshua is the result,” he said instead.

“My son,” she said firmly. “Everything about his adoption is totally legal. When he was born—” She bit her lush lower lip, and a film of moisture sprang to her eyes. To his amazement, Stephan felt a sudden wash of grief as if Mandy’s emotions were so strong they reached from her all the way inside him.

She cleared her throat and continued. “I presume the Taggarts told you that Alena died giving birth to Josh. They were there when she said she wanted me to raise her son. Lawrence was there, too. Of course, the Taggarts didn’t know he was a prince. Alena and I were the only ones who knew that. She told everyone else he was a poet. He was, you know. That’s what he really wanted to do, not go back and spend his life in a fishbowl, doing and feeling only what your rules of royalty permitted him to do and feel.”

“I know all about his hobby of writing poetry. My brother and I were very close.” Stephan studied his clasped hands. Not all that close, evidently. Not close enough for Lawrence to tell him about Alena or Joshua. “He was instructed to keep his identity a secret. The idea was for him to attend your schools and study your culture without anyone realizing who he was. That was the only way he could hope to truly learn things. The poetry was a part of that disguise.”

Mandy shook her head. “The poetry was part of Lawrence, the part that Alena fell in love with. Anyway, orders from the king or whatever had nothing to do with why Lawrence kept his identity secret from Alena’s parents. The Taggarts may live in a million-dollar house in Dallas, excuse me, Highland Park—that’s much more prestigious, you know—but they both grew up right here in Willoughby. They were dirt poor until Alena’s father hit it big wildcatting—”

“Wildcatting?” Stephan had an image of a man fighting with a wildcat. He’d heard some men wrestled alligators in America. Anything was possible over here.

“Oil wells. He made a bundle in oil, then invested it in the computer business. That’s when they really hit it big. They moved to Dallas when Alena was thirteen, and they’ve been trying to break into society ever since. If they’d known Lawrence was a prince, they’d have gone totally bonkers, bragged to the world, conspired to somehow get their daughter married to him, and when she died, they’d have kept Joshua or given him to you. Whichever, neither Alena nor Lawrence wanted that for their son.”

Stephan thought of the rough-cut couple he’d met, of their eager, obsequious attitudes and knew Mandy was right about them.

“Since they didn’t know about Lawrence,” she continued, “Alena’s parents were only too happy to sign the adoption papers giving complete custody to me. It’s all legal.”

“But Lawrence didn’t sign any adoption papers.”

Her jaw tightened. “No. Alena didn’t put his name on the birth certificate. It was something they both agreed on. Neither of them wanted to take any chances that their son would ever be discovered and have to live the way Lawrence had to live.”

Stephan’s mouth went suddenly dry. He reached for the glass of tea and sipped some of it. It didn’t really taste very much like tea, but it was wet and cool. “As the heir to the throne, Lawrence led a life of luxury. He had everything he wanted.”

Mandy’s delicate chin firmed, and white pressure lines appeared around her full lips. “Your brother had everything he wanted except love. He found that when he met Alena, and that’s the gift he wanted to give his son. My family may not have a lot of money. Joshua will never ride to school in a limousine or have a private tutor, but he has one thing neither of his parents ever had...plenty of love.”

For a moment Stephan lost the thread of the conversation as he observed Mandy. What must it be like to experience such passion? Her emotions were completely out of control, swaying with the circum-stances... anger, grief, defiance. It was something he’d been schooled from infancy not to do...and he was totally intrigued.

He drew himself up and drank more of the cool, sweetened tea. “If Joshua truly is Lawrence’s son—”

Mandy shot up from her chair, her eyes blazing green fire, scorching him even from that distance. “If he’s Lawrence’s son? Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

Again he found himself so fascinated by her passion he was momentarily speechless.

Vera Crawford stood, put a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder and stretched up to murmur something so low Stephan couldn’t catch all the words.

Mandy nodded—reluctantly, he thought—then sank into her chair, leaned back and faced him defiantly. “If you have any doubts that Joshua is Lawrence’s son, then maybe you’d just better haul your—”

“Mandy,” the older woman interjected in a warning tone.

“Sorry, Nana.” But he could tell she wasn’t at all sorry for what she’d said or whatever she’d been about to say. She spoke the words to placate her grandmother, but continued to glare at him. “Perhaps it would be best if you took the next plane back to your big, cold palace and left us commoners to muddle along the best we can.” Her amended suggestion was delivered in a fairly good imitation of his own speech patterns and he found himself wanting to smile in spite of the insult.

“A simple DNA test will resolve any doubts.”

“I see.” She clasped her hands on the table in front of her, again in imitation of him, and he braced himself for her next jab. She smiled tightly, her eyes still stormy. “You know, it just goes to show how deceptive appearances can be. I’d never have guessed until this very minute that you were dumb as dirt.”

“Mandy,” Vera Crawford cautioned again, though her tone was less stringent this time. She didn’t really disapprove of her granddaughter’s behavior.

“Dumb as dirt?” Stephan repeated.

“That’s the only possible explanation for your assumption that I’d agree to a DNA test that would leave my son open to being shipped off to an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean where the people are more frigid than the climate!”

“If Joshua is Lawrence’s son—and I believe he is or I wouldn’t be here,” he added hastily, “he is a prince, a descendant of a long line of kings. He should be permitted to come to his country and learn our customs and laws. One day, when my father steps down from the throne, Joshua will become a king. He’ll be the ruling monarch of an entire country.”

“You know, if Lawrence couldn’t marry Alena because of his duty to his country, it doesn’t seem exactly fair to me that now her son should be forced into princehood.”

He smiled wryly at her naïveté. “Fair or not, that’s the way it is. The decree dates from 1814.”

She waved a hand. “I know all about King Orwell and that stupid decree, and I don’t care. The man’s been dead almost two hundred years.”

“What decree, Mr. Reynard?” Rita asked.

“King Ormond,” Stephan corrected. “The Decree of Illegitimate Ascension. In the early 1800s King Ormond II produced one son who died in infancy and seven daughters. At his death, his illegitimate son by his acknowledged mistress came forth to claim the throne. Stafford was already popular with the court and the people. He was smart and well liked and he had a lot of good ideas for running the country. Even the queen approved of him, so the precedent was set. If Lawrence had produced a legitimate heir, Joshua would have been bypassed. But Lawrence did not. When my father steps down, Joshua will succeed to the throne. He may choose to abdicate that throne, but he should have the right to make that choice.”

Mandy lifted her glass of tea and took a deep, slow swallow. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes casting a shadow on her porcelain skin. She set the drink down carefully, drew a slim finger through the condensation on the outside of the glass and turned it a couple of times, her attention seemingly focused on the activity. Finally she again clasped her hands and looked up at him, and he saw that she was no longer angry but sad.

“It broke Lawrence’s heart that he wouldn’t be around to see his son grow up. When he put Josh in my arms, he cried.”

She paused as if to let that phenomenon sink in. Stephan wasn’t as shocked as he might have been, as he had been the first time he’d come upon his brother unexpectedly, a few months after his return from America, and found the tears streaming down his cheeks. Now he knew why.

“Your brother had a heart,” she continued. “He cried when Alena died. He cried when he had to leave his son. Joshua has his father’s heart and his mother’s soul. He’s a warm, caring little boy who will grow into a warm, caring man.”

“He’s a prince. He has royal blood in his veins. He belongs to his country.”

“It’s always bothered me a little,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “that Joshua’s family would never get to see him. My brother and his wife are expecting a baby in December, and I can’t wait to see my niece or nephew. I’m almost as excited as they are. If someone told me I’d never get to hold that little baby, never get to see him grow up, I’d be devastated. When I walked in and saw you here, I was terrified that you’d be able to take Josh from me. I was terrified that you’d insist on holding him and you’d fall in love with him immediately and you’d tell me I had no right to keep your nephew from you. Lawrence said you were an all-right guy, so I was worried.”

“Then you agree that the boy should be returned to his family.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they weren’t true.

She arched an eyebrow. “But you didn’t do any of those things I’d expected and feared. You didn’t show any interest in Joshua because he’s your nephew and a neat little kid. Your only interest is in your stupid country. You have no heart, no emotions. You’re exactly the way Lawrence described the rest of his family. You’re a part of the reason he didn’t want the son he loved to return there and be as lonely and miserable as your family made him.”

She slid her chair back and stood, then leaned over the table and for one wild, heart-pounding moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead she grabbed his tie by the knot and drew him closer. Her face was mere inches from his, and he could see a dusting of golden freckles that her makeup didn’t quite hide across her nose, could feel her breath warm and sweet, but mostly he could see the flames that blazed in her eyes. “You go on back to that country and take over the throne as next in line of succession, produce cold-hearted, unfeeling sons who can carry on the family tradition, but don’t you even think about trying to take Joshua with you or I’ll teach you the meaning of the term Texas wildcat, and I’m not talking about anything to do with oil!”

She released her grip on his tie, whirled around and strode out the back door, slamming it behind her. “Would you like another glass of tea, Mr. Reynard?” Rita asked.

Stephan blinked then suppressed an insane urge to laugh. Her daughter had made an impassioned speech, threatened him with the wrath of a Texas wildcat and left. Even so, Rita Crawford observed the social amenities. Perhaps Texas and Castile weren’t so different after all.